


Moving On

by hurleyquinn



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Angst, Dead Eddie Kaspbrak, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gay Richie Tozier, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Minor Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Past Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Post-Canon, Richie Tozier & Stanley Uris Are Best Friends, Richie Tozier is a Mess, Slow Burn, Stanley Uris Lives, this is my first time posting on ao3 so i'm horrid with tags
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-15
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-01-31 02:10:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21438463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hurleyquinn/pseuds/hurleyquinn
Summary: After the events of It Chapter 2, the losers all leave Derry and move on with their lives. Though they're sure to keep in touch with one another, the past is in the past. Things are looking good for all of them and they're for the most part, content. Even Richie. Though it took him some time, he's in a good spot. And just when he thinks he’s finally put the past behind him and is ready to start a new chapter in his life, he meets a man that reminds him of the one thing he’s been trying especially hard to forget that might just send him packing.Stan is alive au for no reason other than I love Stan. Not only did he live he also went to Derry and helped the losers defeat Pennywise. Eddie’s still dead though because this isn't a fix-it fic. Whoops.Richie is very awkward and bad at expressing his feelings.
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Richie Tozier/Original Character(s), Richie Tozier/Original Male Character(s)
Kudos: 12





	1. The Bartender

**Author's Note:**

> So I’m a very visual person and I like to imagine scenes in my head when I read so for people like me, I visualize the bartender as looking like Adam Lambert (for no reason other than that he’s been my hyper fixation recently and he’s also very pretty and gay) but like of course you can envision him looking however you like. As long as he’s tall (Richie’s height or taller) bc that’s like kinda important  
Yes, I am going to strictly refer to the bartender as “the bartender” for a bit. No, this isn’t Always Sunny in Philadelphia.  
Yes, this chapter is named after a T-Pain song. What about it?  
One last thing, this is my first time ever posting a fic on ao3 (or anywhere for that matter) and my first time writing anything related to IT so comments and feedback would be greatly appreciated because I have no idea what I'm doing! If people like this I'll continue this story (I already have two other chapters written) if not we'll just pretend this never happened
> 
> Also my tumblr is yall wanna chat or anything: http://daddyhyperion.tumblr.com

It took Richie some time to finally leave Derry. Not quite as long as Mike, but it took him a bit. A couple of weeks. He didn’t want to at first, to leave everything behind. All the memories, good and bad. To leave  _ him _ behind. But he had to. He had to continue with his life. It's what he would've wanted. Probably. Besides, there was no use in Richie sticking around. He was gone. There wasn't anything Richie could do for him now. Richie was just so worried he’d forget again. Though, thinking about him only brought Richie pain so he figured that maybe it might just be for the best if he did forget. Though it would be a deal harder this time around because he and the rest of the (remaining) losers had decided to stay in touch after they all made their leave. They left Derry and went as far as they could without forgetting everything all over again, to New York City more specifically. They stayed close to each other, all living within a short drive of one another. And they all made continual efforts to see one another as often as they could, like they were back in middle school again.

So at first, Richie remembered. He remembered everything. And of course, he remembered… him. It seemed he couldn’t forget him no matter how hard he tried. And it hurt. God did it hurt. So Richie turned to drinking- even more so than usual- to try and numb his pain, to distract him. And it worked to an extent. He'd forced himself to forget. To forget him. He'd gotten pretty good at it. He'd gotten to a point where he'd suppressed the memories so well he couldn't even remember why he'd started drinking so heavily in the first place. 

After a few months, he’d finally started to move on. 

All of the losers had. Beverly had divorced her shithead of a husband and she and Ben had gotten fairly serious, even moving in together. Bill had divorced his wife, found a new girlfriend who thankfully didn’t look anything like Bev, finished his latest novel and gotten yet another movie deal. Mike had gotten a job as a historian at a nearby university. Stan and Patty were expecting a child. The future looked quite bright for the losers. Richie included. He was still doing stand up and he was… okay. He'd come out to the losers. Very casually. He just made a joke about it in passing, in typical Richie fashion. He didn't want to make a big deal of it. But the losers were all great about it. Of course. Not that Richie would ever expect any less of them. They were all very supportive. Bev cried at least once  _ ("I'm just so proud of you and honored that you trust us enough to share this with us") _ . And it felt good to finally tell  _ someone _ . To finally get that off his chest and have that weight taken off his shoulders. He wasn't fully… out and proud. Not yet at least. But the people that mattered most to him knew. And he was allowing himself to be more comfortable around other men, especially other queer men. He wasn't dating or anything, just harmless flirting here and there. It was nice to finally be able to indulge in the little things that he'd missed out on growing up so deep in the closet. 

It was a Friday night which meant that Richie was drinking. Well, Richie would be drinking no matter what night it was, but it was more acceptable because it was a Friday. He made his way into the bar that he’d been frequenting recently. It was a cozy little joint. One of the city's more hidden gems. It was reasonably crowded. Not super packed but busier than it'd be on a weekday night. Richie strolled over to the bar where he noticed a head of dark brown hair ducked down behind it. Richie peered over the bar, banging his hands on the top of the counter. 

“Ernestooo.”

He was met with a pair of bright blue eyes surrounded by heavy black eyeliner and a face he didn’t recognize. It’s owner slowly stood upright and Richie’s face followed his as he did. Richie’s cheeks rapidly reddened as he looked at him. Oh. He was  _ hot _ . Like, almost unbelievably so. And definitely not Ernesto. And Richie’s face was unnecessarily close to his. He should step back. But he’d already been this close for so long then it would be weird and he didn’t want to make a big deal of it. So he just, stayed where he was and stood his ground. Maybe the other guy would move. He didn’t. Oh well, at least it gave Richie a chance to get a  _ really _ good look at him? He had dark brown, slightly curly hair, cropped all along the sides but left quite long on the top so that it flopped partially in front of his face, an angular jaw, chiseled features, a sculpted nose, strong, perfectly shaped brows, plump lips and the most gorgeous blue-gray eyes surrounded by thick, dark lashes. He was tall, about Richie’s height, maybe slightly taller actually. He was young. Not like,  _ super _ young. But he was definitely a few years younger than Richie. Probably in his early to mid-30s. And he was definitely gay. Richie didn’t like to stereotype but the guy was wearing eyeliner for fuck’s sake. He was fucking  _ beautiful _ . Like, the type of beautiful that could stop traffic. And he was waaaay out of Richie’s league.

“Wait a minute, you’re not Ernesto,” Richie said, almost as if he’d been betrayed. 

“Really? I had no idea,” the man said with a smirk. Cool, so his voice was hot too. Rich, melodic. It sounded the way that velvet felt. Richie simply stared at him.  _ Say something dumbass.  _ But the other man beat him to it. 

“I’m the new bartender,” he said simply.

“Well, that’s reassuring. For a second I thought you were a really calm but very bold robber,” Richie said. The bartender let out a deep chuckle. God Richie hoped that was a good laugh and not a “get me out of here” laugh. The bartender moved a little ways away and began cleaning a few glasses. 

“So, can I get you something?” 

“Uh, yeah.” 

“.......You gonna tell me what or should I just start pouring and see what you pick?” 

“Oh, right,” Richie said, shaking his head a bit. “Bourbon.”  _ Good, now he thinks you’re a fucking idiot.  _ But a slight hint of a smile on the bartender’s face set Richie at ease. 

“Coming right up,” the bartender answered, flipping a glass down onto the table before Richie, grabbing a nearby bottle and filling it up. 

“Thanks,” Richie said, taking the glass and quickly downing it. The bartender’s eyes widened momentarily as he poured Richie another glass before he looked down to wipe down the top of the bar.

“So, you must come here pretty often if you’re on a first-name basis with the other bartender,” he said, glancing up at Richie through his eyelashes.

“Oh definitely,” Richie said without thinking. “That makes me sound like an alcoholic. I shouldn’t have said that. I promise I'm not an alcoholic."

"I'll take your word for it."

“Thank god,” Richie said with a relieved sigh. The bartender was silent for a few seconds before he simply smirked and said,

“You’re cute.” Then he turned and walked away to help some of the other customers.

“Wait, when you say cute do you mean like in a “I’d fuck that guy” way or like a dumb puppy not recognizing its own reflection way?” Richie called after him. But it was too late. He didn’t hear him. Or maybe he did and he just chose not to answer. Whatever. 

While Richie was sitting, he couldn’t take his eyes off the bartender as he interacted with the other customers. The way he moved was so fluid and everything he did he made seem so effortless. He was so charming and alluring. And the other customers were eating it up. They were practically drooling over him. And Richie wasn't immune either. 

Richie watched him as he began talking to another guy a few seats down. And this guy was laying it on  _ thick _ . Well, Richie couldn’t actually hear what they were saying, but he could only assume from this dude’s body language that he was hitting on him- or trying to at least. He was leaning over the bar, practically breathing down the bartender’s neck. What was this guy even doing? Trying to  _ smell _ him? He probably did smell good though. Wait- what the fuck was he thinking? That was weird. 

The bartender let out a loud laugh, throwing his head and shoulders back, moving his hand, which the other guy’s hand had been creeping toward, over his chest. Pft. Richie doubted that guy could tell a joke  _ that _ funny. But for a brief moment, Richie felt almost… jealous? His own joke had only elicited a slight chuckle. But upon closer inspection, Richie could see that the bartender was simply trying to get away from the guy. Richie was a comedian, he could recognize a fake laugh anywhere. And this over the top display was definitely an escape. He was simply playing nice. But Richie noticed the way he rolled his eyes when his face was facing away from the guy. So Richie decided to help him out.

Richie loudly cleared his throat, holding up a hand to get the bartender’s attention. He glanced over at him with a relieved look in his eyes before looking back at the guy before him. He politely excused himself before walking back over to Richie. He glanced down at Richie’s still full glass. 

“Ordering another one to save for later?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at him. 

“Nah. That guy over there seemed like a creep. Thought you could use a way out,” Richie explained. 

“Oh,” the bartender said simply. “A soft smile formed on his face. "That's sweet. Thanks.”

“No problem,” Richie said, returning his smile. “Y’know, now that you mention it, I think I will take another one for later.” The bartender laughed, retrieving another glass and filling it for Richie.

"You must deal with a lot of guys like that," Richie said, glancing back over at the meathead. 

"And what's that supposed to mean?" The bartender asked, his tone light and teasing. He crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. 

"Nothing it's just that you're um- you're a good looking guy so people must go a little overboard when they hit on you and-"

"Relax. I'm just messing with ya," the bartender said with a snicker. I just wanted to hear you call me pretty." 

"Right," Richie said with a nod. "Well, you are. Pretty that is. Like, really pretty." The bartender grinned. 

“Thanks...I like you,” he said with a smirk. Richie stared at him incredulously for a moment as he turned to continue working. 

“Wait when you say like do you mean like in a “I’d fuck that guy” way or in like a "plain toast isn’t bad" way?” he asked. But again, the bartender didn’t hear him. Or maybe he did, and again chose not to answer him. And again, Richie couldn’t stop watching as the bartender as he did his thing, charming the other customers. At one point the bartender glanced over at Richie and totally caught him staring. _Shit. Look away. _But he didn’t. He couldn’t. The bartender merely smirked and gave him a wink. Richie’s face flushed and he turned away, focusing on his drink. The bartender smirked to himself before he went back to taking orders. As the night began to wind down the bartender made his way back over to Richie to close his tab. 

“So, I’ll see you tomorrow night?” the bartender asked, a hopeful little smile on his face. Though it sounded less like a question or a statement and more like a request. He wasn't asking Richie if he was already planning on coming back tomorrow night, he was asking him if he would. Which had to mean that he wanted to see him again, right? Richie opened his mouth to protest. 

“Yeah probably,” he admitted with an almost defeated sigh. The bartender smiled.

“Looking forward to it,” he said before turning away. Richie smiled as he watched him walk away.

“Wait did you mean you were looking forward to it in like a “I’d fuck that guy” way or like a “I want you to come back because you give me money” way?” he asked. But again, the bartender didn’t hear him. Richie shrugged and made his way out of the bar. He walked over to his car, smiling to himself. He climbed into the driver's seat and began the drive to his apartment, content and already anticipating the next night.


	2. What’s in a Name?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The bartender does, in fact, have a name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends! Been a while. Like, a l o n g while. Idk if anyone even wants this but here's chapter 2! Don’t really have much of a description for this one cause I don’t wanna spoil anything so uh, please enjoy. There’s a couple little easter eggs in this one. Emphasis on little they're both literally mentioned once. But you’ll know what I mean when you get to em it. As always, feedback and comments are greatly appreciated and please lmk if you want more chapters!

Of course, Richie came back to the bar the next night. And the next night. And the night after that. And every night he'd chat with the bartender. Just, light, playful banter, teasing. Nothing of substance really. But regardless, Richie liked him, he liked being near him. He looked forward to those couple hours each night that he'd get to see him. He could only hope that the feeling was mutual. The bartender was always especially nice to Richie. And Richie could tell that that wasn't simply the way he was because the bartender wasn't exactly the nicest person. He wasn't rude or anything, quite the opposite actually. But he wasn't incredibly friendly. He wasn't one of those chirpy, bubbly types. He was more cool and nonchalant, slightly reserved, didn't really smile often. He was somewhat stern, a little bit of a hardass. He was quite particular. He had a lot of attitude and with that came a lot of mouth. He was kind of a bitch, really. But in a good way. Something about him felt so familiar, like he'd known him all his life. despite the fact that Richie had only just met him. But the bartender's demeanor always seemed to change when he talked to Richie. He appeared more relaxed, more cheery. So all signs pointed to the bartender liking Richie as much as Richie liked him.

“If it isn’t my favorite customer,” the bartender said with a smile as Richie approached the bar.

“Oh, I bet you say that to all the guys that tip you more than 20 percent,” Richie joked. The bartender smirked. 

“I can neither confirm nor deny,” he joked right back. "Y'know, I like to think that you keep coming back for me, not just for the drinks," the bartender teased.

"I can neither confirm nor deny," Richie said, causing the bartender to laugh. Richie let out a loud laugh which made the bartender only laugh harder. 

“Has anyone ever told you that you have the most delightful laugh?” the bartender asked. 

“Not really. I usually get annoying, irritating, shrill, jarring.”

“Well, I think it’s adorable. It's infectious.”

“Thanks,” Richie said, his cheeks reddened deeply.  _ Say something funny.  _ But he was so nervous he couldn’t think of anything. So he just sat there looking like an idiot. 

“So, Richie, what do you do?" The bartender asked to keep the conversation going.

"What?" Richie asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

"I mean, what do you do for a living? Gotta be pretty lucrative if you can afford to come in here every night and tip 20 percent. Most alcoholics don’t even tip at all," he explained with a small smirk. Oh. Duh. But then again, how did this guy  _ not _ know that Richie was a comedian? Richie figured that was pretty common knowledge. Wait- ew. That was pretty vain of him. Either way, it was the perfect segue to the question Richie had been rehearsing asking him in his head all week.

“First of all I am not an alcoholic,” Richie said. 

“Sounds like something an alcoholic would say,” the bartender teased, snickering. Richie chuckled, rolling his eyes.

" _ Anyway _ . I'm a comedian. I used to write for SNL. Now I do stand up."

“That explains why you’re so funny,” the bartender said with a smile.

“Do you really think I'm funny or are you just saying that so I'll keep tipping you so generously?” Richie teased. 

"Guess you'll never know," the bartender teased right back. Richie chuckled softly. 

"You're something of a comedian yourself," Richie said.

"Oh no. I'm just really mean and people can't tell if I'm joking or not," the bartender explained.

"I'm not sure if you're joking right now," Richie said.

"Exactly." 

There was a brief silence before the pair both let out a loud laugh. It took them a moment to collect themselves before the bartender continued. 

"So. You must be pretty popular if comedy's your only source of income," he said.

"Oh, no. The only reason I can afford to come here every night is because I don't have to pay bills. I live in a van down by the river," Richie said very casually. 

"Oh," the bartender responded, his eyes widening a bit.

"I'm kidding! That was a joke. Not a very funny one, obviously," Richie explained.

"Oh thank God. Otherwise that would've gotten very awkward," the bartender answered with a relieved sigh.

"Yeah. I don’t even drive a van, let alone live in one,” Richie explained. “I drive a mustang," he added as a not so subtle flex. 

"Richie, please, I'm very gay, I don't know anything about cars," the bartender said with a chuckle. 

"Basically it's a really nice, really expensive car and you should be like, super impressed," Richie joked. Though he was only like, half joking, he laughed anyway. The bartender joined him.

"Wow, Richie, I'm so impressed. You're so luxurious and you have such good taste. That's so hot, do you wanna have sex?" he teased, reaching across the bar, placing his hands on Richie's shoulders and pulling him closer. Richie laughed, rolling his eyes. 

"I mean, if you're offering," Richie said, raising his eyebrows suggestively. The bartender laughed, rolling his eyes as he let Richie go. 

"Thanks for feeding my ego," he said. 

"No problem, hot shot," the bartender said with a wink. 

"Anyway, I guess you could say that I'm pretty well known?" Richie said, trying to sound humble. He didn't like to brag  _ too _ much.

"I'm a little surprised that I'd never heard of you before but then again, I am kinda new here and I don't know much of anything," the bartender shrugged.

"Where are you from?" Richie asked.

"A painfully small town in Indiana that you've probably never heard of," the bartender answered. 

"Try me."

"Ever heard of Hawkins?" 

"....Nope."

"Exactly." 

Richie was actually a little surprised. Looking him up and down, the bartender didn't give off small town in Indiana vibes. 

"Pretty sure I was the only gay kid for miles. Got out of there as fast as I could. But now I'm very… out of the loop when it comes to anything other than empty fields, musical theatre and like… glam rock," he said, rolling his eyes. Richie laughed softly.

“I know that feeling. Small town in Maine. Left right after high school," Richie explained. "Ever heard of Derry?"

"Nope."

"Didn't think so," Richie said with a chuckle. "But I uh, I actually have a show tomorrow night, you should come see it,” he added, trying to sound as casual as possible.

“Oh, I dunno. It’d be kinda hard for me to find someone to cover me on such short notice,” the bartender said.

“Right, of course,” Richie said, shaking his head. “That makes sense. That is a hassle. Don’t worry about it, it’s fine.” It totally wasn’t fine.

“I’m kidding! That was a joke,” the bartender said with a chuckle, parroting the very same thing Richie had said only a couple minutes ago. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

“Oh thank god 'cause I already have the ticket in my pocket,” Richie said with a relieved sigh as he retrieved the ticket and handed it over. “And I already told my manager you’d be coming.”

“So you came here with the intention of asking me out?” the bartender asked him, smirking as he looked down at the ticket. 

“What? Nooooo. Okay, yes. Yes I did. I've been working up the courage to ask you all week,” Richie admitted.

“That’s really cute,” the bartender grinned. Richie’s cheeks flushed. “How’d you know I’d say yes?” he asked.

“Oh, I had no idea. I was just, really,  _ really _ hopeful. If you would've said no I would've just guilt tripped you with the manager thing."

“Well, I’m flattered, Richie," the bartender said with a gentle laugh.

“You’re welcome-” Richie paused for a moment. “Y’know, I never did catch your name,” Richie pointed out. 

“It’s Eddie.”

Richie froze. 

"I'm sorry- what?" He asked.

“Eddie. Like, short for Edward?”

And just like that, it was like he’d opened a door in the back of Richie’s mind. And then all the memories came flooding back to him. Memories he’d suppressed so well he’d forgotten he’d even been suppressing them. Suddenly he felt like he was gonna be sick. 

“I… I have to go,” Richie said simply. 

“But you just got here?" the bartender said, his brows furrowing in confusion. 

“I’m sorry,” was all Richie said as he stood.

“Richie wait-” the bartender started. But it was too late. Richie was already making a beeline toward the door.

“I’ll see you tomorrow night?” the bartender called after him just before the door closed and he heard the distinct sound of someone vomiting. Odd. He hadn't even drank anything. 

“That was weird,” one of the other patrons said.

“You’re telling me,” the bartender said with a frown. He watched the door for a moment, hoping that Richie might come back? No such luck. He let out a soft sigh. He slid over the top of the bar counter and made his way outside where he found Richie struggling with his car keys. And there was a splatter of what was definitely puke near the front door of the bar. Gross. But sadly not uncommon around here.

"Richie…" the bartender said as he very cautiously approached him. Richie briefly looked over at him before he turned his attention back to his car door which he finally got open. 

"Are you sure you're alright to get home?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," he said frantically. And he climbed into the driver's seat without another word and sped off, leaving the bartender standing in the parking lot, confused and concerned. He watched as Richie's car turned around the corner. He sighed and walked back into the bar to return to his work. Well, he guessed he'd see him tomorrow.


End file.
